The Six Murderesses
by SoSaysL
Summary: Killings have occured left and right six months after the story has ended. We present six murderesses in their rendition of the Cell Block Ballet... Wait, what's Ahiru doing here? Our innocent little Ahiru didn't murder anyone, right? Can the same be said for Rue, Pique, Lillie, and the rest?
1. How did it end up like this?

**[a/n]** Bring some tissues.

**The Six Murderesses**

"This is twisted. How did it end up like this?" Ahiru asked her fellow cellmates.

"You murdered someone, smart one." Rue said in a superior tone.

"But I didn't! I didn't! He sacrified himself to save me! Look, I'll show you-" Ahiru protested.

"Yeah, right." Pique interjected.

"For me, it was a murder but not a crime." Rue said smugly.

"He had it coming. I'm not sorry, that's all I'm going to say." Edel added.

"What a nice party! Now we can all be jailbirds together!" Lillie exclaimed happily.

Silence.

"Shut up, Lillie." Pique said darkly.

"This is very undignified. When I died, I thought that would be it. But no! I became a ghost and thus part of Drosselmeyer's world. It turns out he's actually quite mortal, even though he already died. Did you know that?" Edel told them, her voice melancholy.

Rue returned sarcastically, "I wish someone had figured that out before he decided to write a tragedy."

"I didn't even know that this was a tragedy." Hermia said quietly.

"It's not a tragedy! It's a beautiful ending to a beautiful story!" Lillie smiled.

Silence.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were Drosselmeyer's grandchild." Edel muttered.

Rue announced, "All right, if we could all sum up our stories in one word, what would it be?"

"Tap." Hermia said, eyes narrowed at the memory.

"Six." Rue sighed.

"Flames." Edel said, eyes haunted.

"Uh-uh." Ahiru said, shaking her head. "Because I'm innocent."

Lilllie exclaimed, "Cheater!"

Pique thought before saying softly, "Blood."

"We've all been through a lot since the story ended." Hermia said thoughtfully. "I wonder...did Drosselmeyer plan it this way?"

"Since it involved his own death, probably not." Pique answered.

"Practically all the characters are dead by now! And since we're murderesses, we're probably going to die too!" Lillie said with joyful abandon.

"Don't mention it, you good-for-nothing sadist!" Ahiru snapped.

"It's all right." Rue said sympathetially. "We all know what you've been going through."

"No, you don't. You know what it's like to be accused of murder...but in fact, none of us knows the complete story of the others." Ahiru said hotly.

Well, we might as well tell our stories." Pique suggested. "I'm kind of curious to know how everyone got here."

"Why don't you start, Ahiru?" Rue asked. "Since you're the one who's so much better than the rest of us."

"I didn't murder anyone." Ahiru said, "But I might as well have. All right, I'll begin. Here's my story."


	2. Ahiru

**Ahiru**

_**"Uh-uh!" Gullible or virtuous? Either way, she couldn't have seen it coming.**_

"This is going to sound crazy. But I've never been very good at lying… so I might as well tell the truth." Ahiru smoothed a well-worn sheet of parchment with slim, trembling fingers. On the thin sheet was faded writing in scrawling black ink.

"Is it going to involve the story of why you aren't a duck anymore?" Rue asked. "Because you're obviously a human now."

Ahiru nodded. "Rue and Edel, you two already know the beginning of the story. But for everyone else...

I might look human, but I'm really a duck. The storyteller gave me a chance to rise above my standing and save the prince. He told me I could become a beautiful ballerina princess with the power to return heart shards and restore the prince's heart. I loved the prince. It was a pure, selfless love; I would do anything, even die, to help him. I played my part willingly, even though I knew that I was fated to vanish in a speck of light at the end of the tale.

At first I hated Fakir. He was the best kind of adversary, the kind that challenged me in ways I had never expected. But somewhere along the way, things changed. We started working together. We both wanted to save the prince. We both loved him (just not in the same way).

Then…it turned out…the prince, he didn't love me. He had his own princess. That was you, Rue. I was so happy for you!

But then came the evil raven, who wanted Mytho's heart, and Drosselmeyer was laughing at us, telling us that he'd doom us to a tragedy.

Fakir was also a writer with incredible power. Strangely enough, he's a descendant of Drosselmeyer, and his stories can become reality. He wrote a happy ending for me, allowed for me to remain as a duck rather than vanish as a speck of light. The prince defeated the evil raven and returned with his princess returned to the land of fantasy to live happily ever after.

But what about us? Fakir had promised me that he would stay by my side, even though I was a duck. He's not the type to break his word.

So, for a while, he took me in and we lived together. He stopped going to the ballet academy so often and instead focused on writing. He would always write these stories, but he'd never show me what they were. Deep down in my heart, I hoped he was trying to help me return to being a girl.

You know how it is to be a duck? To try to dance, trip on webbed feet and fall through the marshes and flap your wings helplessly at the unfairness of it all? To look at human faces, try to smile and realize you couldn't convey meaningful emotion if you tried? To struggle with words you cannot say...realize with euphoria that you can write words in the dirt and let people know what you're thinking...and then realize with defeat that you couldn't ever have enough dexterity to handle that stupid twig, even when Fakir's looking at you and he wondering what you're trying to do, and you go back to swimming in the pond, because that's the only thing that you can still do as a duck.

And then you simply give up at one point. You quit trying to be like a human. I think I was beginning to forget, a little. Just a little. I don't remember how much I forgot, but anyway...it all came back later.

I didn't want to be selfish, though. Most likely, Fakir saw me as just a friend. A beloved friend, but a friend nevertheless. Or maybe just a pet.

So I waited. I now know I shouldn't have. Then this wouldn't have happened.

But it did.

I remember that morning. It was both the best and the worst of my life. It was a chilly November dawn, and I was tucked in between my sheets. Oh, how cold it was! So, so cold. I brought my arms closer to my chest, curling my fingers…

And then I opened my eyes. I wiggled my fingers and toes, ran a jubilant hand through my crimson hair. It hit me. Fakir had managed to do it! I was human again!

Was I naked? Yes. Did I quickly find something to wear? No. I couldn't find anything nearby, so I wrapped my blanket around myself like a cape and tiptoed over to his closet and found one of his old shirts to use as a dress.

I stole a glance towards him, fast asleep in his chair, slumped over his writing desk.

He'd written me back! And…I was now…human! And he cared about me enough to write about me! I remember thinking how tired he looked, and shedding the blanket from my shoulders I crept towards him.

But what were those papers beneath his hand? I had to read whatever he had written. Once he woke up, I knew he'd never let me see it. And I was so curious!

Excitedly, I worked the paper out from beneath his ink-stained hand and read.

_Once upon a time, there was a duck with the heart of a girl, a girl with the body of a duck. She was virtuous, beautiful, and kind, selflessly sacrificing all she had the fortune to possess for her prince._

_The story had ended, and ex-knight writer knew that a transformation from duck to human was no small matter. Yet, he had resolved that this duck deserved to be human once more. _

_For each of the twelve times he had tried to write her into a human form, he had failed. __It was on a freezing November night that he realized what was to be done. A sacrifice was to be made, a sacrifice equal in worth what was to be gained. She would gain a new life as a human, but what was equal in worth to something as intangible as the opportunity to become human once more? _

_"An eye for an eye...a life for a life." The storyteller's voice murmured from above._

_The young man knew that the storyteller was watching, waiting for him to pen a story heartwrenching beyond his wildest dreams. _

_So he wrote the fateful words, taking care to be short and efficient in his work. _

_The little duck was granted a human form, which would remain with her forever, in exchange for the greatest sacrifice the young man could give. The girl would become, once again, the sweet and courageous Ahiru._

_The storyteller would have his tragedy at last, but the little duck would be safe._

_As she slept, her feathers disappeared into pale skin, her wings elongated into dainty arms, her beak shimmered into delicate features, and her crimson hair rippled down her back once more. She had become Ahiru again, ready to begin a new life._

_He already felt his strength fading as the transformation completed. _

_I thought there'd be time. S__he has to know. I've never told her. I didn't…_

_Ahiru, I love you. _

I had barely finished reading before a sickening thud resounded in my stomach.

"No. _No."_ I whispered, and then I knelt by Fakir's side. "You _have_ to wake up. Fakir, please listen to me. You _have_ to. _Please!_ I love you too! I…FAKIR!"

I shook one of his shoulders lightly at first, and then with all the intensity I could muster. He didn't stir.

With horror, I realized that he was truly gone.

"FAKIR!" I cried. "Fa….Fakir…" And then I was weeping, gut-wrenching sobs, as all my strength disappeared. Not only did he care about me and try to write me back into a girl, but he had _loved_ me. And I'd never told him…I loved him back.

I couldn't know that the tragedy wasn't complete yet. The world had collapsed around me. I thought life couldn't possibly get any worse.

It did.

Charon burst in through the door.

"What happened?" He asked, and then his eyes widened at the sight of me in a distressed heap on the floor.

Overcome by worry, he rushed to Fakir and came to the same conclusion I did. His face crumpled in what looked like agony almost equal to mine.

"He's dead! I'm sorry." I whispered, the paper clenched in my fingers. "Oh, Fakir…I…I'm sorry…"

Without another word, Charon turned and went through the door.

I was too shocked and confused to move, explain myself, or even do anything. I simply waited.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes later that they came. Two burly-looking men in uniforms swooped in and grabbed me by the upper arms. I hung limply for a few seconds, and then reality kicked in. I began to fight, but they had already dragged me halfway through the door.

"No! You can't take me! I didn't…I didn't…NO!" I screamed, as they hauled me out the door and away from Fakir.

Eventually, the world around me became a blur. I tried to explain myself at the police station, but nobody listened to me. We weren't living in a fairy-tale land anymore. This was reality, and they took me as a lunatic.

There were people telling me that I'd done a terrible thing, and I tried to explain myself, but no one listened. I showed anyone who would look the paper that Fakir had written, screamed myself hoarse.

Nobody cared.

Apparently there are multiple chemicals I could've used to poison him that wouldn't leave a trace in the autopsy. I denied everything they said, but...

What am I doing here? I've been taken to the murderess' cell block, where almost all the girls here killed someone! I saw so many familiar faces I could hardly believe it…

But I didn't do it! I didn't murder Fakir…I loved him…

I am…not. guilty."


	3. Rue

**Rue-**

_**The princess who discovered the fatal flaw with her happily ever after.**_

"My turn." Rue said, with an entitled air.

"I first met Mytho when I was a little girl. We went through so much together. He was the virtuous prince who could do no wrong. I assumed he was single when we started dating, later on. Ahiru, you know our story. After nearly escaping the tragedy, Mytho and I became the prince and princess of the fairy-tale land.

All was well, right? He'd always have royal business to attend to. He'd go to work (as we called it), come home, and I'd brew tea whenever he came home.

Nobody had ever told me how the rules worked in this kingdom. I didn't know the truth. I thought I knew who he really was, but I'd only known him while he didn't have a heart. He didn't have a personality then.

So it was only natural. How could I have even dreamed he was capable of doing what he did?

But then I found out.

Single?

Single my ass.

Not only was he married…oh no. He had six wives, who'd all been waiting for him when he came back to his kingdom. Apparently, as a prince he's entitled to as many wives as he likes. But he lied to me. Lied by omission. Let me believe what I thought I shouldn't even doubt! How was I supposed to know he was a polygamist?

And all the while, desperation had been mounting in me. I'd known I didn't belong there. Neither did he. We both shared that raven's blood flowing through our veins. It was more pronounced in me than it was in him, but it was still visible.

He, however, could hide it. I couldn't. I found urgings towards evil in me, and I fought back. There were those traces of darkness in my soul, however, that could never be repressed. That perfect life…it was too much sometimes. It's like having your eyes burned by the blinding whiteness of snow. I knew this was what I'd wanted, but it was _too_ perfect. And I was too flawed, too weak to the raven's blood within me.

But this…this was the tipping point. It pushed me over into madness. If the one person I'd trusted more than myself had betrayed me, how could I trust life itself?

So that night, when he came home, I fixed him a drink, as usual.

And I waited.

You know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic.

I loved him. And he betrayed me.

They found out, soon enough. I didn't mind. I didn't mind at all. I was expecting all kinds of horrific punishment, most likely death.

But they didn't kill me. Instead, the Council sent me into jail as a murderess back in reality. I still don't know how they did it; one moment I was standing before them and in the next I was in jail, guilty of murder.

In their way, that punishment's just as bad as death, if not worse. I think that their logic was that they were depriving me of the quick release of pain death would have brought, instead forcing me to regret what I'd done.

It was true I would rather have died than remaining there. But this…being back in reality is almost unbearable. The pain, the guilt…and sometimes I think I hear Mytho's voice in my dreams.

But I don't regret it.

He had it coming. He had it coming, all along. It was a murder, but not a crime."

"I always knew you were insane." Hermia told Rue.

"She really is." Ahiru said disbelievingly. "You went through so much to be Mytho's princess…and then you killed him?"

Rue nodded. "But I wasn't Mytho's princess…I was expendable. One of many. And he lied to me! I didn't belong there, either…and I guess I couldn't see any other escape."

"Since you couldn't die there…you thought you'd teach them a lesson about polygamy and escape from that place at the same time." Pique said, as she puzzled over Rue's actions.

"That's terrible." Edel told Rue. "I'm sorry for what happened to you."

Rue's mouth tightened into a grimace. "Like I said, it was a murder but not a crime."


	4. Edel

**Edel**

_**"Flames." Not once more. This time, she refused.**_

"Do you remember how I helped you, Ahiru?" Edel asked.

Ahiru gave a small smile. "Thank you so much. You were the one who helped me see what Drosselmeyer was planning, the one who turned this story from a tragedy into a triumph. Or, at least, back then it was a triumph. Now, it's an epic fail on everybody's part." Ahiru looked around for confirmation as each of the other five nodded.

"After the story was over, Drosselmeyer didn't have any control over your realm." Edel continued, gazing at her folded hands. "But his own realm? The land of story-spinning? That's where I went. I was more a spirit than a body then, you see.

He was still as powerful as ever over his own territory. And he was very bitter about having his tragedy ruined. For a while he blamed it on you, little duck, for not drowning in the depths of despair. He shifted the responsibility to each of the characters in turn: Fakir for writing a happy ending, Rue for not being a satisfying victim, and eventually Mytho for defeating the evil raven. Finally, he decided to blame it on me, for I was the only one he could take out his anger on. He accused me of working for myself rather than him, of taking on an identity other than mindless puppet. Most of all, Drosselmeyer was infuriated that I'd told you the secret of the last heart-shard being stored within your pendant.

I didn't say anything, because that was exactly what I'd done. I wanted to help you, Ahiru, more than anything I've ever wanted to do. You were so innocent, so cheerful, so deserving of happiness. So I helped you.

I thought his rage would be something passing. I thought he would let it go and eventually it would be forgotten.

So I was wandering around his world of turning gears, minding my own business, when in storms Drosselmeyer.

"You've betrayed me!" He screamed. He was crazy! He kept saying "You've betrayed me, you unfaithful puppet! You ruined the story!"

But it turns out he'd made another contraption for story-spinning. When I saw it, I knew that this couldn't be good. That crazy old man laughed at my expression.

"My stories shall live once more. It may seem as if all has ended happily, but all that will change. I have engineered a complete tragedy! This time, I will not hesitate to kill. The finale is absolutely breathtaking. It took me a while to ensure maximum heartbreak, but once I remembered the rules I had set for the story...the choice was clear." He cackled. "Yet, unfortunately there is no place for you anymore. Away you must go."

Before us sprung an enormous bonfire, large enough to engulf me completely.

"This bonfire is no ordinary bonfire." Drosselmeyer chuckled, looking completely insane. "Even though you've already died, so to speak, your entire existence will be extinguished by these flames. These flames have been written so they are destined to take in a single soul and obliterate it. Afterwards, they will be of no harm. I guess you know what happens next, my little puppet."

Arrogant as he was, he didn't think I would rebel against him a second time. Instead of blindly walking into the flames, I turned and calmly stepped towards him.

"It's no good to plead with me." He said, thinking that I was going to beg for mercy.

I would never have done anything of the sort. So the flames ran into him. Instead, I seized his shoulders and pushed him with all of my might towards the bonfire.

His eyes bulged as he was consumed by the greedily yellow flames. The old storyteller didn't even have time to speak a single word before the bonfire disappeared, leaving nothing in its place.

"Come on, Uzura." I said to the little child who was watching with a confused expression.

"Are you and Drosselmeyer lovey-dovey, zura?" The little child asked.

"Not even close." I muttered.

I could move anywhere I pleased in your world, now that I was dead and thus free of my body. Because I am a puppet who took a life of her own, my soul could meander without constraint despite the fact that the body I had once been placed into was consumed by ashes. The bonfire, however, would have annihlated what was left of me. For a while, I left Uzura in Drosselmeyer's world as I wandered, but then we both came to reality.

Uzura has now been adopted by a woodworker. He's fascinated by her and treasures the little puppet dearly as a miracle of woodworking.

In fact, what you're seeing now is simply my projection. I saw that all of you had been accused of murder, and I couldn't help coming down to share in your company now that I'm a murderess as well.

But I have to say, I thought I was saving you all from Drosselmeyer's third attempt to create a tragedy. He had it coming. He had it coming, all along. He'd destroyed so many people's lives that it was only fitting.

How could you tell me that I was wrong?"


	5. Pique

**Pique**

_**The silver dagger wasn't hers.**_

"Well." Pique began, "It wasn't long until Autor and I began to spend more time together. I found him a surprisingly sweet boyfriend, and he seemed to enjoy my company.

Autor took me to the place where he had trained Fakir to be a writer, and showed me the roots of the oak tree. I had never known about how Drosselmeyer had manipulated the fate of this town, how our world had been merged with fantasy. There was that family tree, as well—Autor told me that Fakir was a direct descendant of Drosselmeyer.

I became more and more curious. It took no small amount of coaxing, wheedling, and cajoling, but eventually I got the entire story out of him. Who could have guessed that there was such a power, that the written word could twist reality itself?

"I was starting to forget." Autor confessed, "Now that the story's gone back to normal, I think the fact that we had ever had such a strange world was about to fade from everyone's minds and smooth over as time went by. Do you remember that your teacher was once a cat?"

I tried, and the words stuck a vague chord in my mind, but the more I thought about it the less I could remember.

He smiled confidently. "See? But now that I've told you, it's been affirmed in my mind—and yours as well. If everyone does forget, we'll be the last ones."

I nodded, soaking it all in.

Autor told me about the Bookmen, the people who tried to restrain the story before it went spinning wildly out of control. Apparently they tried to cut Fakir's hands off so he couldn't write anymore before Princess Tutu leapt in and saved him!

The very thought of them scared me. Autor must have noticed, because he leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, they won't bother us again."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"The story's ended." Autor answered, looking up at the sky. We were both sitting next to each other near the roots of the old oak tree. "It's over. Drosselmeyer's contraption that he used to control us all was dismantled by Fakir. It's crazy that a dead man could have the power to ruin all of our lives."

"But you can't tell anyone." He told me, suddenly serious.

"Of course I won't!" I retorted.

"Good. By the way, I've been trying to write stories." Autor said wistfully. "I know I don't have the same power as Fakir, but I haven't seen him in a while…anyway, it's more for my entertainment than anything else."

"What do you write about?"

"For a while... I wrote about Rue. I always resented that she ended up with Mytho; theirs wasn't true love, because she had no idea who he truly was! All she saw was a handsome, manly prince being nice to people (and that was only because he had no heart). Of course she had to be his princess, and I know it's just wishful thinking, but I would write little stories about how Rue would leave her station as princess and come back to the real world. No harm, just small short stories."

"That awkward moment when you confess to your girlfriend that you've been writing stories because you love other women!" Lillie laughed.

"Shut up!" Pique huffed. "Now, let me continue.

He caught sight of my expression and quickly backpedaled. "That was a while ago, Pique. I don't want to have any secrets from you, and you know I'm telling you everything."

"I believe you. You know, Autor, I wonder what would have happened if it weren't for the story."

"I like to think that we'd still have found each other." Autor replied.

"We would have, I know." I answered.

We were silent for a while as I nestled against him and leaned my head on his shoulder. It was one of the most peaceful moments of my life. I wouldn't have given it up for anything, especially after what would happen next.

* * *

"Don't move a muscle!"

Suddenly, we were surrounded by a group of black-clad figures in cloaks. More than one of them held sharp silver axes.

"They're the Bookmen." Autor said, his voice halting against my ears. "Don't worry, Pique, it's all right."

"No! It's not!" I returned, becoming panicked. "Are they going to kill us?"

"Autor, come forward." An old, grey-haired man who stood at the head of the group announced. "You don't have a choice."

Autor disentangled my arms from around his shoulders. "Just wait here. You'll be fine."

"You have attempted to meddle with the story." The old man said to Autor. "If you keep on doing this, the entire balance of reality will be ruined. You have changed more than you could possibly realize."

"I won't continue, then." Autor answered calmly.

"But that's what they all say, boy. You have more potential than you might think, and you know the drill for writers who try to change their fate. Your hands will be cut off. Right. Now."

Autor tensed, as if to run away, but two cloaked figures grabbed his wrists and held him in place. "I'll make a machine. You'll see." Autor snarled, struggling fiercely. "Besides, haven't you heard of dictation?"

The old man gave a hoarse laugh. "Haven't you ever heard of _blood loss_?"

"NO! Wait, don't!" I screamed, rushing forward. Two of the masked figures caught me by the upper arms and I knelt, helpless to save him. "Run, Autor!" I said loudly. "RUN!"

"If you do, she dies." The old man said menacingly. "If you accept your fate, we'll let her go."

Autor's face had become pale, but his eyes shone with something like bravery as he stopped jerking his arms in their grip. "All right. Pique, don't do anything stupid. They won't harm you. It's me they want."

"You IDIOT!" I screeched, fighting the cloaked bookmen. "YOU IDIOT! RUN!"

And then Autor looked directly at the huge axe-wielding figure. "Make it quick. Pique, I tell you, don't do anything stupid."

I couldn't watch. But with that terrible thwacking sound, I lost all of the contents of my stomach onto the ground.

Autor's hands...were gone.

"Well, that piece of business is done." One of the bookmen said. I was released onto the cold ground, the world whirling around me.

One glance at him was all it took for me to become truly sickened. He raised the bloody stumps before his face, which had become a queerly greenish color. And there was so much blood welling out of what had once been his hands, the mangled skin and jagged bone, ripped flesh..._My _Autor, the boy whose hands were unjustly chopped off? Autor looked weak and unsteady, gruesome stumps wavering about each other as if he was unsure what to do with them.

I wasn't going to stand for it.

With a strength I didn't know I had, I rose onto my feet, dizzy for a moment. I took off in a flying sprint towards the old grey-haired bookman, tackling him, and we both were sent flying to the ground. His hand came up, and with horror I saw that he was wielding a silver dagger in his fist.

It all happened so fast. I twisted his wrist, worked the dagger from his palm, and before I knew what I was doing I had slipped the dagger into his chest.

He was dead, all right. In my fit of fury I had managed to kill the leader of the bookmen. I rolled over, away from him, and again lost myself in a violent retching.

The rest of them looked at each other, and for a terrible moment I thought I was going to die a torturous death.

Instead, they turned on Autor, who had already lost so much black-red blood onto the ground. With a single slice, axe dove into flesh. This time, I couldn't look.

"That's what happens when you defy the Bookmen. We kill the ones you love, and then we kill you." One of them said, advancing towards me with a bloody weapon. I knelt transfixed, until one of them spoke up with an evil smile alighting on his features.

"Take her to the police station for murder. We did need someone to blame the murder on, anyway." Another said. "She can rot in jail knowing she's caused the death of her lover."

And that's exactly what happened. They're going to charge me for murder. Of both Autor and the elder Bookman.

Any smart lawyer will say it was self-defense, but I'm fairly sure that the jury will decide that it wasn't. My hands were stained with blood no matter how hard I tried to wash it off, and sometimes I swear there's stains of blood on my fingers even now.

I as good as killed Autor. He might have lived, had I simply let it be...but now he's dead, and when I stabbed the Bookman, I also murdered Autor." Pique paused to look at Rue, who had a slender white hand over her mouth in horror at her tale.

But if you'd have been there…if you'd have seen it…could you tell me that I was wrong?"


	6. Lillie

**[a/n] **We may have skipped over Hermia. Sorry, everyone. Lillie is much more entertaining. She's my personal favorite.

**Lillie-**

_**Gift or curse? The sadist says both.**_

Lillie's smile remained plastered on her face in spite of the dark topic of conversation.

Then again, she was a sadist.

"I loved Femio more than I can possibly say. He was a real artistic guy…you know, a dancer."

"Mytho and Fakir were also dancers." Rue observed.

"Yes, but only Femio was French." Lillie returned. "He was also the only one who'd scatter about rose petals. Classy, I know. He was so sensitive…he'd tell me how he caused so much suffering in this world, by being so beautiful that no one could live without him.

I loved hearing about his suffering. So I made it a point to remain by his side. Eventually we recognized each other as worthy companions.

Or, at least, I did.

He'd go away, each night, in an attempt to 'find himself' as he called it.

Find himself? I thought. How unspeakably cute and adorable!

I didn't hesitate to tell him that he was a lost soul destined for the fiery depths of hell, and that it went without saying that he could never find himself. But I encouraged him to bravely keep on trying so I could cheer him on in the face of insurmountable odds and his certain doom!

And…while he was supposedly looking for himself, he found John, Bob, and Joe instead.

I couldn't have guessed! He was using me as a cover to make everybody think he had a girlfriend and couldn't possibly be attracted to guys!

Yeah, right.

I was suitably amused about this little charade. I'd never heard anything so funny in my life! In fact, I was reduced down to hysterical tears of laughter when I found out. I was _so_ grateful, in fact, to him for giving me this laugh that I decided to pay him back in kind.

He told me was going to find himself, you see?

We had already established that his was a lost soul in hell. When your soul is in hell, and your body is here in this world…well, there's just one way to find yourself then.

I kept what I was planning a surprise. I guess you could say we broke up because of artistic differences. He thought he could find himself by searching here? Of course not! How ridiculous! I, however, saw the truth. He could only find himself by another means. What was I saying? Oh, artistic differences. Well, it was a simple one at that.

He saw himself as alive…and I saw him dead."

**[A/N]** I like the way the story stands as of now, but I might write a semi-happy or semi-even-more-tragic ending for Ahiru and Fakir.  
Just maybe.


	7. Hermia

**[a/n] **more on the way, everyone, after this chapter...although I'd hate to ruin the surprise of what it will be :)

**Hermia-**

_**Tap. Tap. Tap. SHUT UP!**_

Hermia spoke up. "Do you remember how we last met, Ahiru? So much has changed. I can hardly believe it myself. Anyway…

You know how people have these habits that get you down?

Like…Lysander. He liked to sculpt statues. The result was quite beautiful, actually; he even made a statue of me with wings once. I must admit, I looked like an angel.

It wasn't until later that I noticed the infernal tapping of his chisel. Over and over.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

I could hardly stand it. Whenever we were around each other, he'd always have a little piece of stone in his hand and he'd be tapping away at it. Like I said, the final result was lovely, but the process? _Tap. Tap. Tap_. For me, it was pure torture.

I asked him to stop. Nicely.

But it was a part of him just as much as breathing. He couldn't and wouldn't stop.

So I came to his workshop one day, and it's been a tough morning. You know Demetrius? The one who's always tagging along after me because apparently he's _desperately_ in love with me? He was telling me that I shouldn't take him or Lysander for granted anymore because they both actually loved _Helena. _Apparently, they were both going to fight for Helena's love. Pfft, I thought. Silliest idea ever.

Yes, it had been a terrible day. I was looking for a little bit of sympathy, and who can blame me for what I did?

There he was, sitting at his little bench, tapping away at something. I came closer to see what he's working on.

And it was a statue of another girl, the same girl who was posing seductively on a pedestal a meter away.

Helena.

"Lysander." I said warningly.

He turned around, and panicked. "Uh..." He said, but he was still tapping away at the stone like his life depended on it.

Helena shot me a sickeningly sweet smile. "Get away from Lysander." I told her. "Demetrius is waiting for you."

"Actually, this is part of the contest for Helena's love." I heard Demetrius say from behind me. "And Lysander, that sculpture's nothing compared to the painting _I'm_ going to make. You can bet that I'll win."

Rage rose in the pit of my stomach. "Lysander, is this true?"

No response.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Lysander."

_Tap. Tap. Tap."_

I said slowly, "Lysander, if you tap that stone one more time…"

And... he did.

So I went next to the other ginormous sculpture, right beside him…the one he always told me he was afraid would fall over? Yeah, that one.

And I leaned on it.

Needless to say, the sculpture fell over. On top of him and his beloved statue. Helena leapt off of her pedestal, a hand clapped over her mouth, as Demetrius took a step backwards in horror.

I actually thought Lysander would be smart enough to quit tapping on the sculpture with his chisel and get out of the way. I was only trying to make a statement that he couldn't go trying to win the love of other girls while we were together, not kill him. And that damn _tapping_, over and _over_ and _over_ and _over_...

But now he was dead. His sculpture crashed into smithereens, just like his skull.

And I was left a murderess."

"I wouldn't have done that!" Ahiru gasped, her face pale, horrified white.

"Don't worry, we know you wouldn't have." Rue said dryly.

"But you didn't mean to kill him!" Pique interjected. "That's not intentional murder!"

"Hm...maybe I did." Hermia said, twirling a lock of curly hair between her fingers. "But he died. If you'd have been there...if you'd have seen it...I betcha you would have done the same."


	8. Fakir

**[A/N]** *hides in distant forest from fangirls* also, I will _probably_ write a finale to tie things together. If people forgive me for this, that is.

**Fakir-**

_**All he wanted to do was rescue his beloved.**_

"AHIRU! ARE YOU HERE?"

Ahiru started at the sudden familiar voice. "Fakir? Am I…dead?"

"We might all be dead." Pique said dryly. "Who knows?"

"Ahiru!" His face was at the bars of the cell, and Ahiru leapt from where she sat.

"FAKIR!"

"Look, we don't have much time." He whispered breathlessly, yet his words came with conviction and strength. "It was only by pretending to be someone else that I could make it in here, much less talk to you. But they've accused you of murdering me, right?"

Ahiru nodded, overcome by emotion.

"So if I show up at your trial, the problem is solved. You can't have murdered someone who's already alive. I will _not_ let them convict you of something you didn't do. Understand?"

"Of course they can! That's the point of trial by jury!" Lillie screeched from in the cell.

"Is that Lillie?" Fakir asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes. Actually, there's six of us in here. A lot of people went crazy after the story ended. But Fakir, I thought you were…"

"Hush. Yes, I know, you idiot. But I'm not dead, as you can see."

"I'm so sorry…"

"No, I shouldn't have done what I did. It's all my fault. Did you…did you read what I'd written?"

"Yes…"

"Then you know what I've never been able to tell you."

"He's eaten duck meat! Oh, the horror of when the person you trusted could have the _gall_ to eat one of your kindred! RUN, AHIRU!" Lillie screamed.

"Are you kidding? I don't even eat _any_ meat anymore, not even eggs!" Fakir retorted. "Ahiru, ignore your silly friend."

"I know. Fakir, I…"

"It doesn't matter if you don't love me back. What matters is that we're both here, safe. I've got to go, Ahiru. Don't you worry."

And then he was gone, leaving Ahiru with the vital words on the tip of her tongue. She turned around to the faces of her friends. "He's…he's alive!? But why?"

"That's a terrible question to ask." Rue said. "With that going, you might as well have killed him."

"Shut up!" Ahiru returned, only wanting to talk about Fakir's alive state.

"Drosselmeyer did say that most of his characters were dead. Maybe he decided that he couldn't continue the story without his direct descendant being alive." Pique said thoughtfully.

"This is what I think." Edel told them. "It doesn't outright say that Fakir died, does it? It simply says that he was willing to give up everything. Maybe it was a part of Drosselmeyer's latest tragedy, that Fakir wouldn't truly be dead. He would simply _appear_ dead."

"But he would wake up right after Ahiru had been tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death. Perhaps he would run as fast as he could to see her, but find her right as she was about to be hanged. The moment before she dies, they catch each other's gaze, and then the life would sputter out of her. It sounds very Drosselmeyer-like to me." Lillie said happily.

"That's horrible!" Hermia exclaimed.

"But now that he couldn't finish his story, it was left more to chance when Fakir was roused from his coma." Edel continued Lillie's imaginings. "I think _that's _what happened."

"You were very lucky." Rue said wistfully.

"It's all right! Most of the characters are still dead, so it's still a tragedy!" Lillie announced.

Silence.

"We know." Pique said. "We know."

Ahiru was left with the terrible feeling of ominous foreshadowing settling like heavy stones in her heart.

* * *

Ahiru sat up straight in the cot, her hair luminous in the moonlight as it spilled down her back. All was still save for her wide, searching eyes, and she could hear the thud of her heart in the darkness.

These deathly stirrings in her heart, the chills down her spine, or the quaking of her shoulders…none could be quieted.

_Fakir..._

Unbidden, her hands reached out in front of her into the night, searching for him. She desperately needed his stoic presence, for she didn't think she could bear another moment without him.

"_Oh_." Ahiru whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks, as her heart broke once more. _"_Oh, _Fakir. _It was just...a _dream."_


	9. FInale

**[a/n] **There are two ways the ending can be interpreted. Bonus points if you get all three.

**Finale**

"On account of murder...sentenced to death." The young woman's eyes brimmed with tears as she heard the verdict. She smoothed a stray lock of crimson hair, and then pulled out a well-worn parchment, her gaze skimming the words briefly before she began to cry.

Heartwrenching sobs. Her tear-stained face tilted upwards, light dancing across her pale cheeks. She didn't attempt to hide her misery as she wept bitterly, for love, for life, for Fakir, and for everything she had lost. This was the sound of true heartbreak.

* * *

"I am innocent." She said to herself, over and over again. "I am innocent." The knot in her throat caught onto her words. "I-I-I am _i-innocent_!"

"Come along." The guard said from beside her. That girl had always been a little strange, murmuring about things that didn't exist and always looking at that one sheet, which she now clutched to her chest frantically. Normally, they didn't sentence people like her to death, but the guard could have sworn that her presence unsettled everyone, including him. Her wide, fearful blue eyes darted about, her nervous hands fluttering like two white doves.

She was the only one who could have committed the murder, from what he heard. There was no other explanation for it. To put it simply, her conviction and death sentence had become an easy way to close the case. Once she was dead, the matter would be resolved forever.

He put a not-ungentle hand on her back to guide her towards the loop of rope.

The red-haired girl turned to look at him. "I am innocent." She whispered, her shoulders shaking.

And in that moment, he believed her. "I know." He said. "I know."

She turned again to face the ominous rope, her hair glinting faint golden-red in the first rays of the early morning sun. Oddly, she seemed to be almost calm, her expression taking on an odd combination of resolve and melancholy. One petite step. And then another. A shuddering breath. Her slim figure cut a small silhouette against the rising sun, surrounded by wispy mauve-lavender clouds. Her hands had folded against each other, the picture of innocence.

The girl bowed her head sorrowfully, her entire form bathed in gentle light the color of wheat, as the rope was slipped around her slender, ballerina-like neck. The guard found it hard to look at her directly, for she seemed to be shimmering against the strengthening morning sun, bright and beautiful, too luminous to observe except as a glimmering specter. Her softly curling hair now glittered with the aureate fervor of the newborn day, and - did he imagine - her chin tilted upwards, her profile elegantly serene amidst the sea of golden light, almost as if in defiance of her fate.

And that barely audible, murmured word, spoken with her last breath as she stood before the glorious dawn - "_Fakir."_

_Suddenly, her eyes widened with shock...was she dreaming? or already gone? For sprinting desperately in the distance was-_

_-he slowed to a halt, emerald eyes searching for her, and their gazes locked for a single instant-_

The air seemed to rattle like bones, the light of the sun suddenly chilling, the clouds now stained with light like red blood, at her departure.


End file.
